He
by Noctis Horrorem
Summary: Part two of a three part series. You dont need to read the first part to get the basis of the story however, and you do not need to read them in order. The sister piece to this story is called "She" if you care to read it. Mature themes, descriptions of both verbal and physical domestic violence.


**AN  
** So this story is part two in a three part series I will be doing. All the stories are set at the same time, written from three different perspectives.  
 _She_ was written from the perspective of Draco, this next chapter is from Hermione's perspective. The final chapter with be the most different from these two and will be written from Ron's perspective. I hope you enjoy this story, and I promise to have the last (Titled _They_ ) as soon as possible.  
Also, you can now find me on facebook! Just search Noctis Horrorem, and like the page. I will share update schedule for my ongoing stories, random funny memes I find, and just to casually chat!

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It had been three years since the War. After the final battle she had been given a cushy job in the Ministry tailor-made just for herself.

She knew she could apparate to and from her office, but she enjoyed the walk. The crisp morning air invigorated her, reminded her she was alive. She had survived.

She told herself daily she should be grateful. For most, Post War life was bloody fantastic! But for her. No. It would do no good to dwell on that here, not on such a beautiful morning.

She noticed him about a year after she had started. She didn't let on of course. He clearly didn't want to be seen. He always stood there, on the street corner, partially hidden in the shadow, a muggle cigarette hanging from his long pale fingertips.

She didn't understand why he would hide from her. Things were different after the War. She had defended him at his trial. She was willing to give him a chance at friendship. She didn't know how to hand him the proverbial olive branch though so she just bided her time. She knew he would come to her eventually.

She always made sure to take the slightly longer route on her way to work. Not only did it give her more time to think, but there was a beautiful muggle florist. Every morning the scents would envelope her as she walked past. Some days she just couldn't help but bend and bury her face in the flowers.

She would love to receive some, but her mother had once told her it looked desperate for a woman to buy herself flowers, so she never did.

Some mornings her fiancé would walk with her to work. She still loved him, like she had for years. At least that is what she told herself anyway. After the War he had taken to drinking. He was violent when he as drunk. Not to her, but the fresh pieces of plaster in the walls were a testament to his love of drink.

She wished he would notice how much she coveted the beautiful flowers. She always looked at them with longing when they walked past them, but usually he was too hung over to even notice where he was going.

That was fine, maybe one day. She was good at waiting. She was always the one left waiting.

The days she walked to work with her fiancé were the worst. Only because she knew he was watching her. She didn't want him to see how unhappy she felt. She had no right to be unhappy, not compared to him. She had everything. Her side had won. He was left with nothing but a loud and empty manor, a trace on his magic, and his parents given the kiss.

It was a Friday night. Hermione had left early. All her work was finished. She settled on her couch with a glass of red, hoping it was finished before her fiancé came home. He didn't like it when she drank. She liked to think it was because he didn't want to see her wind up like him. She knew though it was because he horded the alcohol for himself.

She had just finished her wine when he came home. He saw the empty glass in her hands a flew into a rage.

He lifted her from her spot on the couch and threw he onto the floor.

"Stupid mudblood bitch!" He screamed at her.

Those words… those words from his mouth.

It hurt more than she could bare.

She lay there on the floor sobbing as he stomped around the house, punching the walls and kicking the doors.

He was obviously drunk. He was never like this unless he was drinking. Part of her knew she should leave him, but she just couldn't bare it. They had been through so much together. She had invested too much in their relationship. So she just lay there.

The next Monday she took her usual route to work and although the usual routine of her weekday ritual calmed her to some extent, it did nothing to cheer her up. She knew that he was watching still. He was always waiting, always watching.

It was the one thing to really help her feel better at all. She knew if her fiancé got any worse. If for whatever reason she did not keep her schedule, he would notice. He would worry. He would save her. She didn't know how. But she knew he would.

Months past, and it was the same thing. Her fiancé got steadily more and more violent, and as he did, she grew more and more lost.

She had tried to talk to him about his drinking. But it always led her nowhere. He just didn't seem to realize how bad it was.

Part of her wished she could make him understand how much it was affecting everyone around him. Especially her. She could barely eat, she was so sick with worry. She knew their best friend was fed up completely. He was about ready to let them both go on their own way. Especially if she didn't leave him.

How could she leave him like this though? She had realized she didn't love him as much as she thought she did, but until he was clean and sober she just couldn't leave him.

It was a chill winter evening and she had to work back late. She disliked working back on Friday nights, only because of her fiancé's suspicious nature. She knew it was going to be a bad night when she heard him raving in their living room.

"So you're finally home are you? You are such a dumb slut! Do you think I don't know you and Harry are fucking behind my back?" His words were slurred together, and he swayed where he stood.

She tried to hold back the tears welling in her eyes as he spoke to her in such a coarse manner. She knew if he was sober he wouldn't be talking such filth.

"Ron, I swear we aren't-" She heard the slap before she felt it. She didn't even realize she was on the floor until she opened her eyes.

"Dumb bitch! I thought you were supposed to be the brightest witch of our age? Look at you! You are pathetic!" He spat on her.

He had never been physical with her before. She hoped it was the only time. She could handle it if it was the only time.

She couldn't see where he had gone, but she could hear him. She heard him struggle with the cork of the firewhiskey. She could hear him swallowing more of the firewhiskey than should have been possible. It was going to be a long night.

Oh if only it was just the night. If only it would have just stopped when it started.

He kept drinking, and kept hitting. She tried to talk to him, tried to calm him. It only made it worse. So she decided to wait it out. Had it been a day yet? Two? Three? She had lost count. She was so sore, and she thought maybe one of her ribs was broken.

The more he drank, the more clumsy he became. She was surprised he hadn't passed out yet.

She heard an explosion but she ignored it. There had been so many over the last few days as her fiancé took his anger out on the objects around him.

" _Expelliarmus_!" She heard a dry and cracked voice shout. It was vaguely familiar. She knew she knew it. If only he would speak again.

She heard a crash as her fiancé flew into the wall, finally unconscious. Relief flooded through her system.

She stood, her whole body quivering with a mixture of fear and relief. She saw who it was and couldn't believe it. It was _him_. He was there.

"Draco? Draco Malfoy? Wha-what are you doing here?" Her voice trembled. Her whole body trembled. It made her sound so weak. She hated it. But if she let Ron do this to her, she must be weak. What witch in her right mind would put up with such things?

"I-" it was like he had forgotten to talk. Instead he handed her a bunch of flowers. Her favorite flowers. She felt a smile on her face for the first time in months. She leaned down and buried her face in the lovely bunch.

"I… I've had the rest of the stock delivered here. I… that is… I really hope you don't mind." His voice sounded weak, like it wasn't used to being used.

"Peonies. My favorite. How did you know?" She spoke softly, scared to break whatever sudden magic had filled the room. There stood Draco Malfoy, looking scared and lost.

Draco shrugged, a blush spreading on his cheeks.

"This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me. Thank you Draco." She whispered.

Where he was stood in the doorway he looked like some kind of fallen angel. The light from the hall surrounded him like a halo. His waifish frame and dark clothes made him look lost and mysterious.

She wrapped her arms around him, nestling her head on his shoulder.

"I love you Hermione." He whispered into her hair.

She felt her heart melt for him. She couldn't help it. "And I love you."


End file.
